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“A child doesn’t just vanish!” retorted Alain, who could just imagine what his Aunt Bel—not his aunt any longer—would say to the notion of children and prosperity being trivial things in the eyes of the Lord and Lady, through Whose agency all that is bountiful arises.

Tallia laughed, sounding for a moment so heartless that he wondered if he knew her at all. “What do you think would happen to a newborn child of a dead emperor whose last wife has no kin to protect her from the vultures who have flocked to feed on the corpse? I believe Our Lady was merciful, and that the child was born dead.”Advertisement

“That isn’t mercy!”

But she only bowed her head and turned away from him to kneel again by the bed, hands clasped atop the beautifully embroidered bedspread, forehead resting on her hands as she murmured a prayer. He signed for the servants to leave.

“Tallia—” he began, when they were alone.

She raised her eyes to him reproachfully.

“Tallia.” But her fawnlike eyes, the slender tower of her neck, the beat of her pulse at her throat—all this enflamed him. He had to pace to the window, leaning out to get any least draft of cooling air on his face. He had only to be patient, to coax her.

When at last he turned back, she had fallen asleep, slumped over the bed. She looked so frail that he couldn’t bring himself to disturb her but instead gently lifted her onto the bed. Her eyelids fluttered, but she did not wake. He wanted to lie beside her, to keep that contact between them, but it felt somehow obscene because she was so limp, so resistless—as if he had unnatural feelings toward a corpse. He shuddered and eased off the bed.

Restless, he paced a while longer. He sent a servant to inquire after Prince Sanglant, but the prince had not returned to the palace, nor had those sent out to look for him.

Much later he heard the six hounds, confined to Lavastine’s chamber, welcome the count with whines and whimpers as he came in from the night’s feasting. He kept listening, expecting to hear a seventh familiar voice, but it never came: Ardent was truly gone.

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WITH two horses, changing off, he made good time, and the dogs never seemed to tire. There was only one road to follow until the village of Ferse, nestled in the heel of a portion of land protected by the confluence of two rivers. There he questioned the ferryman about two Eagles who had passed earlier in the day: They had continued south into the forest rather than splitting off on the east-west path. Several startled farmers walking home from their fields along the roadside confirmed that they had seen Eagles riding past.

Neat strips of cultivated fields became scattered woods and pastureland, then forest swallowed everything but the cut of the road. Beneath the trees, summer’s evening light filtered into a haze of fading color. The wind blew in his favor: He heard them before he saw them, two riders and two spare horses.

Wolfhere turned first to see who approached from behind. Sanglant heard the old Eagle swear under his breath, and he smiled with grim satisfaction. Then Liath turned to look over her shoulder. She reined in her horse at once, forcing Wolfhere to pull up as well.

“We have farther to go this night if we mean to sleep in the way station that lies ahead,” warned Wolfhere.

Liath did not reply, did not need to; Sanglant knew how a woman’s body spoke, how her expression betrayed her desire. She tried to master her expression, to give nothing away, but her entire face had lit and a grin kept tugging at her mouth. He knew then that he could succeed if only he behaved as a man, not a dog.

Wolfhere minced no words. “This is madness. Liath, we must ride on.”

“No. I will hear what Sanglant has to say.”

“You know what I have to say.” Sanglant dismounted, staked down the dogs, then crossed to her and offered to take her reins as would a groom. She gave them to him, but did not dismount.

“You are not thinking this through, Liath,” continued Wolfhere furiously. “You will lose the protection of the Eagles, which is all that saved you from Hugh first at Heart’s Rest and this very morning at the king’s court. All this to go to a man who has nothing, not land, not arms, no retinue, no control over his own destiny because he has no inheritance from his mother—”

“Save my blood,” said Sanglant softly, and was happy to see Wolfhere glance angrily at him and then away.

“—and you will live at his mercy. Without the protection of the Eagles or any other kin he is the only protection you will have against those like Hugh who seek to enslave you. And that protection will be offered to you only for as long as he desires you.” pqdm.com